


Fallout: Luna

by KGirlred



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gouls, Legion - Freeform, Medical, New Vegas, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Powder Gangers - Freeform, Slavery, Survival, Torture, Violence, Wasteland, mojave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KGirlred/pseuds/KGirlred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luna was born a slave, human cattle forced to obey under the flag of Caesar's Legion. Her father, a man of utter furocity and mercilessness, Legate Lanius. Her mother, a slave woman dead at the birth of Luna. Luna learnt at an early age how to be a menace and was only young when she found herself killing for those she loved. But as a sequence of events unfolds, everything she holds dear is torn from her.<br/>Fate or Destiny.<br/>Slave or Warrior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me. I didn’t understand that. I never knew my father. He didn’t care or didn’t know that I existed. I didn’t understand that either. I did when I was six, though, when I saw him. It wasn’t some big, fanciful reunion. Far from it. He was on a victory march through the camp. All the slaves had to line up, including me, as he marched his men through the camp to the large tent in the middle. I understood then, daddy dearest was off fighting wars so I could grow up to continue being an obedient slave. I was never obedient, especially after I learnt who my father was. Legate Lanius. Monster of the East is what they call him. My father was a monster and I was the daughter to that monster, the slave daughter. Though he wasn’t that man when I was growing up. He was still a feared man, moving through the ranks of the Legionaries with brutal efficiency. He wasn’t the Legate, someone else was, but we’re not allowed to speak of him.  
I would steal apples, cut a soldiers uniform and put dirt in their beds. The other slaves told me that that was a good way to get myself crucified. But to be honest, that was my payment for the injustice of being born into a life of chains. I was a child slave of the Legion, unimportant and just another scrap of garbage, too young to be sold as a wife, too young for the Legion soldiers to take interest in raping me and too young to fully be burdened with the weight of being a slave. I’d seen it though, women hunched over like an old crone and they weren’t even twenty yet. The screams of terror from the brutality a lone man could dish out.  
I hated the way I was living, the nightmares, the rags I had to wear, the lice filled beds we had to sleep in if we were allowed to sleep. But worst of all were the stories of my mother. Her courage, her strength, her beauty that caught the rising Legates’ attention that he protected her from rape and torture. Some slaves say that they were certain she was just going to be set free one day with a flash of her cherished smile. But it was never so.  
I was nine when the Legion won their second advance on Hoover Dam when my father was Legate, right-hand-man of Caesar. That was my chance, my only chance, to escape, when most of the soldiers were more focused on battle than causing misery to the people around them. But I didn’t. Fear of what awaited me was what kept me in the clutches of the Legion.  
Caesar was quick to seize his power over New Vegas and many slaves were transferred there to begin work on reshaping the city. I wasn’t moved, still too young to be of any use. So I continued cleaning the boots of the Legion troops and helping in the kitchen.  
When I was ten, some of the soldiers had grown bored so they decided to stage a fight in the arena. I thought nothing of it at first, it was usual for these types of things to happen even when it was slaves that were pitted against each other. What made it different was that the woman who had raised me was put in that arena. The only way to get out was if everyone around you were dead. My mother figure was a soft-hearted woman who was known for saving many women’s lives as they gave birth. She took me into her care when my mother died. She wouldn’t make it out of that arena. That’s what I knew. So I did something foolish. I collected a sword from the supplies I was meant to be cleaning the blood from and killed a Legionary with a slash to the throat before he had time to react. The hesitation the Legion soldiers showed at seeing a pissed off, blood splattered, ten-year-old slave costed two more lives. I had seen my father kill without mercy just because a few of his soldiers had displeased him. I knew how to cut a grown man down at the age of ten.  
The slaves who saw what I did never treated me the same after that. I wasn’t crucified for what I did, no, a metal tipped whip was taken to my bare back as I was tied to a post. Eighteen lashes. I screamed. I screamed not out of anger for what was happening but with utter pain, anguish and terror for what I was going through. I was a child when I had my first severe punishment for my crimes. But I’d seen worse and I knew I had gotten off lightly. Mercy was not something that was usually shown, not even to children but it was no secret that I was the only child of Lanius and therefore, may be useful. I had saved those slaves from fighting in the arena, too distracted were the Legions that they didn’t bother to continue on with the fight. It was a small victory.  
At fifteen I was faced by a Legion recruit looking for his first taste of a slave girl. I didn’t allow it so I fought. I shoved a rock into his eye and he bellowed before unsheathing his blade and stabbed me in the throat, just above my slave collar. I soon passed out from blood loss as he ran off, cradling his face. I woke to being alive and struggling to breathe. Months passed before I was well enough to move again and I learnt that Caesar himself had requested my good health.  
Being alive had come at a cost, though, the blade had severed my vocal cords, thus disabling me from speaking. I was frustrated to say the least, at becoming a mute. The first year I communicated with hand signals and facial expressions, I soon gave up on that. I started to meekly obey and learnt to nod. Growing up I had always questioned authority but being the changed woman I was, there was no more questioning, no more speaking, the perfect slave. But one thing I did do to keep myself remotely sane was practice. I had stolen a wooden sword that the Legion children usually played with and taught myself to fight from the things I had seen the Legion do, and my father in his rare visits. I observed carefully, it had become a hobby of mine, as well as managing to escape notice.  
So that’s where I am now, seventeen years old, a slave, a mute, practically an orphan and with no route of escape. “Luna.” I glance up to find Gillian looking down at me, a fellow slave and one who works beside me in the kitchens. Well, she works while I practice twirling the knives we’re given. I tilt my head to the side, indicating I’m listening. “There are a whole heap of potatoes to peel and they’re not going to do it themselves. So get up and help me before one of the men see you down there.” I roll my eyes as I stand and brush the dust from my slave rags. She’s right though. The pile of potatoes is more like a mountain, overflowing from the basket they were thrown into. “You know, eventually your luck is going to run out when you do these stupid things,” Gillian says, roughly cutting through a potato. “And where do you think that’s going to leave you?”  
I draw the knife across my neck as she watches, pretending to have my throat slit. I then drop the knife and grip my throat, making an exaggerated death scene.  
Gillian sighs, shaking her head. “Fine, I get it. We all know you don’t care about your own life but we don’t want to see you tortured, Luna. Just start doing something, begin with helping me peel these damn potatoes.” I do as she asks and the morning is spent peeling, cleaning and cutting up potatoes. A Centurion guard comes to check on us often and Gillian lowers her head each time he is near. I don’t blame her. She’s half a year younger than me and the battle hardened Centurion has already raped her on numerous occasions. I understand the feeling of having men leer at me, but I’ve never been approached, not since that day when I nearly killed a man. Gillian tends to stay close to me since my glare often keeps the men away; in return she keeps me in line and covers for me. Each slave feels a sense of loyalty to one another but Gillian and I grew up together, both of us born into slavery.  
“We’re going to be transported soon,” Gillian says, snapping me back to the present. “Ashley says they’ve already made their rounds in the Legate’s camp. It’s only a few more days, maybe hours, before they come to Fortification Hill and take those who can work properly. That means us, Luna,” she glances at me and I watch her. “Well, maybe not you. You’ve already expressed yourself as a troublemaker so they’ll either kill you or whip you into shape.” I look away from her and back to the task at hand. She’s right though. My options are slim and my chances are slim as well. The only thing these soldiers want is a loyal body and the only thing Caesar wants of his men are loyal dogs. It’s a circle with Caesar at the top and my father right next to him. To leave this place though would be going somewhere even more uncertain, even more hard labour. Eight years after the last fight for Hoover Dam and Fortification Hill is still the main area to train new recruits and place the more useless slaves.  
My hands freeze when I hear the approaching drum beats. I look to Gillian with a raised eyebrow and she frowns, putting down the work she’s doing and brushing off her hands. I follow suit as marching feet come our way. We step out of the tent that is used for the kitchens, shielding our eyes from the glaring sun. “Do you think it’s more recruits?” Gillian asks and I give her a sceptical look. We just had in new recruits only a few days ago, more couldn’t have arrived from Cottonwood Cove already.  
A battalion of men march their way up the hill towards the gathering slaves, all with confused looks on their faces, probably thinking the exact same thing as me. I sink into the crowd of dirty, tired slaves, becoming unnoticed as the men advance upon us. Gillian follows my lead and we stay out of sight as the men stop before us and a Legionary messenger steps forward.  
“By order of Caesar,” he begins and I start to get a sinking feeling in my gut. “Those slaves deemed of use will be transferred to the city of New Vegas to continue their work there. Those slaves deemed to be troublesome and useless will be put into the arena.” Gillian’s gaze meets mine and I know exactly what she’s thinking. I’m troublesome and I’ve got the scars on my back and on my throat to prove it. “A lottery will be drawn for those slaves deemed useless, deciding which slaves will fight in the arena and which slaves will face execution.” I see a soldier smirk a little. It never ceases to surprise me how much amusement they find out of our misery. “We shall begin with the names and number of those who will be transferred.” Our numbers are determined by what number has been branded on our slave collars and no number is the same. “You will leave immediately.” Gillian’s hand finds its way into mine and she clutches it tightly. I squeeze her hand and give her a small smile. I know I’m going to die today. If I don’t get called to execution then I will die in the arena, I will not kill other slaves. The messenger starts announcing the slaves who are to go to New Vegas, I know my name will not be on that list. I hear Gillian’s name and her correct number and I grin at her. She has tears in her eyes, tears that are not happy because she knows my name will not be called. Her hand slips from mine as she leaves me and I have never wanted to speak more in my life. To tell her I love her, that I’m grateful for everything she has done for me, her friendship that I prized above all else. But no sound comes out so I just give her a wave and thank her with my clear blue eyes. It is all I can offer but Gillian has always understood me.  
As more names are called and the crowd starts to thin I begin feeling more exposed. There aren’t as many people around me to shield me from the horror I’m about to face, what we’re all about to face. And so the lottery begins. First are those who are to be executed, they step forward, some with their shoulders back and heads high, some fighting despair and some cry with anguish. I watch as the women who I grew up with face their fate, their doom, their end. It was always going to come to this, me standing on my own, hearing each name called as though we were being called to a meal. But we are being called to our deaths.  
Five of us left. There are five of us left and they’ve stopped calling names. We are to fight for our lives in the arena and there’s nothing we can do about it. But first we watch as the slaves to be executed are shot in the head, one by one. They don’t run away, there’s no point in that; they just face their merciless execution. They’re the brave ones, facing the inevitable. The ones going into the arena are the cowards. I see that as we are shoved towards it. We are the ones that will become desperate and kill our family just to live. The five of us take positions on the outskirts of the circle, facing each other.  
“You either fight or you die,” one of the men says and throws into the centre of the circle two machetes. Two. My thoughts travel to Gillian and I think of what she’d do, or what she’d tell me to do. But her words don’t enter my head because neither of us has had to face this before.  
The Legion soldiers watch from the bank, not cheering, nothing, they are waiting for us to kill each other or they will do it for us. Either way, we die. My gaze travels to someone at the back of the group and I nearly stop breathing. Legate Lanius, easily noticeable for his heavy golden armour and helmet. Even what he wears inspires fear in his opponents and the men he commands. His presence brings my mind into focus. I decide then and there, I will not let the monster that is my father see me die today. The shout to begin is heard and the slaves hesitate. As do I because I know that to prevent my death today I will have to kill, end the life of a fellow slave. My objections are cut short when a slave jumps forward and grabs a machete, screaming as she spills the first blood by slicing through a slaves rag and into her stomach. There’s a moment of shocked silence as the slave falls to her knees, blood spilling through her fingers and onto the dirt below her as she holds her stomach. She falls to the ground, a stunned look on her face as she dies. This spurs another slave into action, shouting in anger as the snatches up the other weapon. I step away, horrified to see the two women begin their battle, the other slave joining in to try and get her hands on a weapon to defend herself with. I watch the brutality these three women unleash on each other just to secure a place in what lies next. My eyes travel back to my father and the Legion soldiers but I’m greeted with only stone cold expressions.  
One of the women screams and my attention is drawn back to the brawl and I’m dismayed to see one of the slaves hacking at the other, attempting to hack her head off. Her efforts are cut short when her neck is sliced open and she falls, gurgling and choking on her own blood. Three slaves lie in the dirt, the crimson pooling around them, soaking the ground. The last slave turns to me, a detachment in her gaze. She is doing this for pure survival and I know that I will have to kill her to live. She runs at me, a scream tearing from her throat as she raises the machete above her head. This time I don’t hesitate because these slaves turned into people I don’t know when they were faced with destruction. As she brings the weapon down I catch her arms and twist, hearing one of her shoulders pop. She shrieks with pain and drops her weapon. I shove her and she stumbles back. My hand sweeps up the machete as she clutches her shoulder. I watch her for a moment, seeing the fear seep back into her eyes, the bloodlust fading, the adrenaline wearing off. I mouth the word sorry before plunging the blade straight into her heart and quickly pulling it back out, giving her a quick death. She slumps to the ground and I throw the blade next to her body, disgusted by it.  
They all watch me as I watch them in turn. I’m the last one standing and they decide what happens to me next, my fate has never been so out of my hands. “Kill her,” the command is final and is spoken by the commanding voice of the Legate. My hatred for him becomes a living thing as he turns and walks away and three Legionaries join me in the arena, brandishing their sharpened, gleaming machetes. I will not die today. I pick up the blood splattered weapon again, feeling no sense of remorse as I face these soldiers. I will not die today.

**

“Damn it, Luna. If you keep pulling such stupid stunts it’s not just whippings you’ll have to face, it’ll be crucifixion or the Legion blade. And not only that, one day, I may not be here to stop you from getting an infection and cleaning up your wounds.” I shrugged, not really focusing on what she was saying due to the pain clinging to my back from being whipped for about the third time in my thirteen years. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re mother wouldn’t have wanted this,” she continued. I just stared at the dirt in our housing areas. “Luna, are you even listening to what I’m saying?”  
“Yes,” I sighed, having heard all this before.  
“Then do as I tell you and stop this nonsense.”  
“What? And allow myself to be spat on and kicked around? No thanks.”  
“It only gets worse and if you don’t get used to it now then you will not be able to deal with the harsher things that can be thrown at you. You cannot expect to be able to fight back against a whole military force, you will be executed.”  
“Better than being raped,” I mumbled.  
She pressed on my back with her washcloth and I winced. “You do not know the harshness that some of the women here face so don’t pretend to understand, child.”  
“I’ve seen enough of it to understand,” I snapped. “I didn’t choose to be a slave; I didn’t want to be in this life.”  
“None of us did, Luna, but your mother would have wanted you to survive. So please, I’m begging you, stop throwing yourself at all the trouble you can find and live. If not for your mother than for me. Promise me that, that you will live, Luna.”  
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I promise.”

**


	2. Chapter 2

I blink a few times and have to wipe my eyes to clear the blood from my vision. Not my own blood though. The two machetes slide from my grip, thumping to the ground. Three more bodies rest in the arena and blood makes my skin feel sticky as it dries in the heat of the sun. It takes me a moment to realise that my slave collar is beeping but when I do my eyes widen. I open my mouth to yell out for help but then I remember that I don’t have a voice, it’s the first time I’ve forgotten since I first lost it. I grip the collar, knowing I have to do something otherwise it’ll blow and take my head with it. It’s a tracker, a bomb and a reminder that I am the Legion’s property but right now it is my worst fear.   
I take a breath and calm myself, panicking isn’t something I should be doing right now. I look around and find that the bank outside of the arena seems to be abandoned, I am utterly alone. I go to one of the Legion’s bodies and start searching him, finding the key to open the arena and a pistol that all the soldiers keep holstered. I rush over to the gate and get it open. The collar’s beeping picks up in pace so I start sprinting, having no plan. I pass a few Legion soldiers that shout at me but I pay them no mind, stumbling down the hill. I see the gate that leads to the lower part of Fortification Hill but freeze when I see the group of soldiers with all the slaves, getting ready to leave. My first instinct is to run the opposite way but the collar’s noise fills my head and I know that I have no other choice than to confront whoever activated it and get them to deactivate it.   
Gazes turn my way and eyes widen when I reach the slaves. They look even more shocked when they hear the shrill noise my collar is making and many of them hurriedly back away. I aim my gun at any of the men that come to detain me, death in my eyes and blood still caked over my body. I see Gillian and she looks at me like she is watching a different person. I advance straight to the Legate and he holds off his men with a raise of his hand. My glare sears into him as I jab a finger at my collar, frustrated that I can’t threaten him with all the horrible things that I have been dreaming up since I was a child.   
“You think your gun is going to save your life?” he asks in an unbearably calm and calculated tone.  
I bare my teeth at him and again indicate to the collar again. He steps towards me. “I do not feel the need to spare your pathetic life but give me a reason why I should.” I shove the gun up to his menacing mask.  
“She can’t speak,” I hear someone blurt out behind me and Gillian steps up, giving me an exasperated look. “She’s a mute.”  
“Then I have no more need to be here,” he turns away from me and I know my seconds are ticking by quickly. I look to Gillian for help and she stares at me, utterly at a loss for words. I see the flash in her eyes though and I know she’s thought of something.  
“She’s your daughter,” she rushes out. “She can fight and she’s good with medicine. She’s of use to you.” Lanius stops and a small movement from him stops the beeping from my collar and it feels as though a large weight has been lifted off my chest. Lanius turns to us.  
“The only way this girl will be spared,” he announces, “is if you trade places with her.” A wave of silence sweeps over the crowd that has gathered around us. I start shaking my head, tightening my grip on my gun. “Sacrifices have to be made.”  
“I will.” I freeze, thinking that I must have heard wrong. “She is of more use than I am,” Gillian continues and I turn to her.   
“Then it’s decided then,” Lanius directs a small switch to Gillian’s collar and not even a second later it starts to beep and my eyes widen. I don’t know how to react, shocked at first, then anger that she would do this, then desperation when I realise the collar’s death countdown is growing faster. My mouth starts to open and shut, trying to scream, to make it stop but no noise comes out.   
“It’s okay,” she says, moving back and I reach for her but I’m grabbed by the soldiers. I thrash and twist, my voice locked away as I try bellow and cry. No, STOP! Please. Don’t do this. NO! NO! You can’t! But all there is is silence, utter, chilling silence as a path is cleared for her and everyone moves back. Tears streak down the dust and blood on my face as I continue to attempt to break the hold. Two men have to hold me as Gillian looks into my eyes.  
“It’s okay,” she says, calmly, her voice just for me. “Everything is going to be-” and that’s when she’s cut off. The deafening boom of her collar as it rips her apart. Her headless body stays upright for a moment and I’m frozen, still as her legs buckle and her body thumps to the ground in a heap. All I can do is stare, stare at the lifeless body of the girl I considered a sister. The soldiers allow me to fall to my knees, anguish slicing through my being as though I’m being cut to shreds.   
“Do not disappoint me, slave,” Lanius says coldly as the darkness of horror and heartache blankets me.

**

I don’t remember being put into chains, I don’t remember the hollow march to the gate. It’s all a blur and the only thing I took note of was the fresh batch of new, terrified slaves entering Fortification Hill. I don’t remember the comforting whispers of the other slaves around me but they can’t cease my sorrow that is weighing me down.  
I’m one of the slaves in the first group of women to be transported on the wooden barge down the river to Cottonwood Cove. The first group to begin their long march to New Vegas with the Legate and a few other soldiers. We shuffle in a straight line, chains linking us together, digging into the skin of our ankles and wrists. They pinch into my flesh as my slave collar does with each breath, reminding me who I belong to. Some people say that we never get used to the tightness around our necks but not all slaves have worn one since birth.   
My gaze stares out into the vast expanse of the merciless wastes of the Mojave. I don’t feel any sort of accomplishment that this is the first time I have stepped foot out of Fortification Hill in my life. All I feel is dread and a sense of being disconnected from myself, like none of this is real. It can’t be real. Gillian can’t have died like that, shouldn’t have died like that. It’s all wrong, all twisted. She should be here, not me.

**

The descending darkness brings a chill with it and an eerie silence over the wasteland. Us slaves are beyond the point of talking now, we hunch and drag our chains, the harsh landscape tearing through our thin shoes and making our feet bleed and blister. But we don’t stop, the Legion will not let us stop even as one of the slave girls, only a little older than me, falls out of exhaustion. Her chains are removed and the gap is filled and I look back as we leave her behind to be eaten by whatever creature awaits their next meal. I continue with the rhythm of our steps, keeping pace, my mind a blank slate.  
When I concentrate on my surroundings again I see that we are travelling through the pillaged town of Novac, its large dinosaur souvenir shop in a state of disrepair. A few traders stay out of our path as they travel through the empty town of Novac as well. I look to the horizon, seeing the distant glow of the sun that’s about to break over the faraway mountain tops.  
We follow the highway, the road cracked and split, unable to hold itself together. Remnants of buildings lay crumbling on the side of the highway, billboards are shredded and the colour has been sucked out of them, like this desert sucks the life out of all of us. The soldiers herd us along like cattle and we obey them, the slaves we are.   
The only time we stop is at the abandoned 188 Trading Post where a group of raiders have set up a trap. But they weren’t prepared for the Legion and they’re quickly cut down with brutal efficiency. Thus continuing our tormenting walk to a place where none of us have been before.

**


	3. Chapter 3

Night is once again falling upon us when we reach the brightening city of New Vegas, its lights starting to shine. We enter through Freeside, the living space of slaves. It amazes me though, that they throw us out of the vivid city and into the slums, thinking that it will make us cower and beg, but Freeside is lusher than any place I have lived in before. But it still doesn’t exclude the fact that we will be doing back breaking work for a vile empire.  
Slaves watch us with clouded eyes, looking as though they have seen the very bowls of Hell and experienced its heat. Though we have all been through a lot, I think that maybe this will be the most torturous, the most horrendous. Sadness shows in their eyes as they watch our march, sorrow that we will be meeting the same unending fate of cruelty as them.  
My eyes focus on the broken path that we walk on, not knowing what awaits me and why I was so keen on survival. I would have rather die than face being put in more devastating situations from being a woman.  
We are forced into a dark, cold, damp building and our chains are taken off. We are then ordered to strip ourselves so we can be ‘washed’. I remain still as the other slaves look around nervously. “Now!” a soldier barks and the women around me start hurriedly doing as they are told.  
I do not move.  
Suddenly there’s a large spray of ice cold water from the balcony above and there are a few shouts of alarm. I close my eyes as the water runs over my face, washing away the blood and dirt and years of filth. A small smile curves my lips as I revel in the feeling of finally being washed, even though the water numbs my hands.  
The water is shut off and I blink my eyes open. The soldiers command us back outside where there’s a cart of fresh slave rags and I’m about to pick up a pair when I’m suddenly pulled by my hair. I reach up to pry the hand off of me but I’m dragged away from the rest of the slaves and thrown to the ground. I see a few other women being treated the same way. “You will do as we ask,” the soldier yells at me and I flinch. “Or I’ll personally gauge out your eyes! Remove your clothes!” I stare at the man in disbelief for a moment but rush to my feet when he pulls a blade from his belt. I stand, frozen, feeling humiliated and exposed. The Legionary steps towards me and the crack of his hand across my face echoes across the silence. My head whips back and tears instantly form in my eyes. I blink them away and hear him yelling at me more, his face red with exasperation. I spit at his feet and his face twists with rage and he brings the blade up to my eye, gripping the back of my head. Shocked gasps ring out but I stare into the man’s eye as I simply pull his gun from its holster and squeeze the trigger. His eyes bulge and he glances down. I pull the trigger again and this time he stumbles back, clasping his gut as blood drips from his mouth. I raise the gun and the next bullet enters his brain and his body shudders as his head is thrown back. He hits the ground, hard on his back and I glare at the other soldiers as they draw their weapons.  
“So, you’re the slave my men have been talking about,” I glance to my side and my eyes narrow to see Vulpes Inculta, the leader of the Frumentarii, Caesar’s eyes and ears, the spies of the Legion. “The bastard daughter to the Legate himself. Not exactly what I was expecting but Caesar still wishes to speak with you.” I lift my lip up in a snarl. I have no intention to speak with that beast of a man. “Come, slave, you do not want to keep Caesar waiting, the punishment will be swift.” I look to the other slaves for guidance but there is no guidance to be found. I have no one left to stand by my side. So I do the only thing I can, the only thing I can think to do. I drop the gun to the ground and I follow Vulpes to meet the man who has been the dictator of my life but who I have never met in person.

**

I’m led to the Lucky 38, a place that has been re-modelled to suit Caesar’s wants. No longer is the strip a place of gambling and sin but a place of order, law and an imposing military force. Each casino has been totally re-designed to allow the growth of the Legion. Prisoners of war are executed and crucified, what is left of the NCR being only the dried blood in the streets. The Legion has already started to expand further, far beyond New Vegas and it’s only a matter of time before California falls under its boot.  
As I enter the foyer of the Lucky 38 I see that the gambling tables have been stripped and replaced with campaigning plans and military strategies. Caesar sits on his throne in front of the elevators that lead to his personal quarters. He lounges as though he knows he belongs and he truly does. The flag of the bull is everywhere, his signature. A burning fills my chest as I look upon him, his bald head, his fierce features and cold eyes. This is a man who has dictated my whole life. What could he possibly want with me? To kill me properly?  
“You look confused,” he says and I glare at him. “I heard that you’re a mute, doesn’t that annoy you?” I offer a small shrug. “To the problem at hand then, it seems you have taken it upon yourself to kill some of my men. And why would you think you wouldn’t be punished for that?” I look down as a notebook and pen land at my feet and I swallow. I haven’t had a conversation with anyone in a long time even if I’m writing and they’re speaking. I pick them up with hesitant hands and start to scribble my thoughts. 'I was not thinking of my punishment, I was thinking of my survival.' I show him my writing, taught to me by the woman who raised me in place of my mother who she could not save.  
“And where did you learn to fight?” he questions and I glance around me, looking for direction but find only soldiers who are ready to kill me if given the order.  
I tear off the piece of paper that I wrote on and begin my answer. 'Your men do not train their fighting in secret, it is easy to observe and learn.' He reads what I wrote.  
“Quite true. But what do you think will become of you now?”  
I bite my lip and write my answer. 'I do not know. But I know that you will decide.'  
“Well, let’s keep it short then. Your skills in fighting have reached my ears and also your persistence in staying alive. But is that truly enough to keep you alive?” he asks and leans back, giving a firm nod. The soldiers around me snap into a fighting position swiftly, machetes drawn. The notepad and pen clatter to the ground as I take a step back. “To make it a little more even,” Caesar states as he pulls a machete from the belt of his Praetorian guard and throws it to me. I catch it from the air and allow myself to breathe. Fighting I can do, fighting is what I was born to do. Five men advance on me and I prepare myself. My mind focuses on the movements of my body and the movements of the men around me. A calmness glazes over me and I sink into a fighting stance. I know how these men fight, I’ve watched them my whole life. They test and prod at your defences before striking.  
The first man to strike is confident and swings his machete to cleave my head clean off. I jump back and my own machete slices towards him. It takes a moment before both of us realize that I’d just severed his hand off. He falls to his knees, screaming as he clutches his wrist, blood squirting from the stump. I recover quickly and attack first on another man and he’s too shocked to react quick enough as my blade cuts through the tender skin of his throat, bright crimson liquid spraying to the floor. Two men attack me at once. I dodge one strike and deflect the other, cutting open a man’s stomach and he shrieks as his intestines leave his body. I throw a punch to the next man, hitting him in the eye and avoid a swipe from the other man. My blade cuts through his thigh, scraping the bone. I bounce back from the man’s blade who I hit around the eye. He’s too slow to deflect my machete as it severs half way through his neck. I yank it out and turn to the man on the ground, clinging to the wound on his thigh. I embed the weapon into his skull.  
I look around me, the men dying or dead at my feet. Blood drips from my arms and face as though I’ve bathed in it. I clench my fists, feeling the blood slide between my fingers. I turn to Caesar, ready to battle whatever else he may have to throw at me. But he claps, standing as he does so. “Well done,” he says and I throw a quick glance around me, wry of what this might mean. “I have a preposition for you.” He stands in front of his throne and I eye him nervously. “Your skills are quite outstanding. Little wonder that, being the kid of Lanius. But there’s one problem, you’re a woman.” I swallow the lump in my throat, my stomach twisting in a knot. “But there is a way to skirt around that. I have need of you but only if you agree that you will pledge allegiance to me and I can promise you that you will never be a slave again.” I stare at him, utterly shocked. Even if I had a voice I would not be able to speak. “So, what will it be?” he asks. I won’t be a slave any longer but it’ll mean kneeling before the man that all of us slaves want to escape from. Better that than being executed. Caesar won’t have me around any longer.  
I watch the bloodstained floor as I drop to one knee before the most feared man in my life. “Wise choice, but know that if you ever try to defy me, kid, then I’ll put your head on a fucking pike.”

**


	4. Chapter 4

I’m escorted to The Tops casino, a bag over my head and chains around my waist, connected to my wrists and ankles, looking like I’m walking to my execution. The men who were present in my meeting with Caesar were sworn to secrecy of what happened in there or they were to be killed. The hood is taken off and I blink, looking around at the casino’s penthouse. The two Veteran Legionaries unshackle me then leave. I rub my wrists as the door is shut and locked behind me. Now what?  
“So, you’re the little troublemaker.” I jump at the voice and look over to the bar to see a man leaning against it. “Caesar dragged me from my day off so this better be good. I had a brief outline of what I’m meant to be doing with you and personally I think that you’re a lost cause.” I watch him carefully as he walks around the bar towards me. “A beaten slave that is faced with either execution or submission? I really don’t think you’re worth all this hassle but orders are orders.” He runs a hand over his short, hazel hair. He wears black combat pants, a black, long-sleeved shirt and a bullet proof vest adorned with weapons strapped all over his body. The red and gold Legion flag is painted on the front of his vest. His clothing doesn’t give any hint as to what ranking Legionary he may be so I can’t tell how much of a threat he is. But just judging him by his fluid movements, muscled body and the fact that Caesar requested him directly is a clear indication that he is not someone to be crossed lightly.  
“The name’s Bence but I’m known as Ben to everyone,” I continue to watch him with narrowed eyes. “Caesar says he has use of you and it’s not my place to question so I’m not going to but please, have a seat.” I sidle over to the couch, keeping an eye on him as he sits down opposite me. Just the simpleness on sitting on a cushioned seat is something that I haven’t had the pleasure of doing before. I never truly realised how much I have been deprived my whole life until coming here. “Do you know what Caesar wants of you?”  
I give a small shake of my head, getting increasingly nervous.  
“Caesar has been looking for someone to do this for awhile and personally I think that when he is no longer alive this will be changed. I also think it doesn’t need to happen and that you are not the person to do it. But, nevertheless, he wants you to start controlling the slaves. Their treatment, their work, housing, transfers, everything. All within the guidelines of Caesar’s requests of course. But you having been a slave and dealt with its hardships, I think that you’ll be too soft on them. They are still slaves after all. But the thing is, you still have to inspire fear in them, that’s why it’s a little annoying that you are a woman. On the upside though, you can fight. Fighting is going to be useful because male slaves who are to become new recruits will be pitted against you, not a fight to the death but if they last a certain amount of time against you without dying then they will be able to begin training as recruits. It’s a new system that Caesar is bringing in, I see the upsides to it but I also see the downsides. Caesar will have to put his trust in you completely, so that’s where I come in.” I just stare at him as he explains all of this, unable to believe my own ears. How have I fallen into this position? If I do become this person that Caesar wants me to be, then I could make so many lives better while securing my own purpose. “You have to do certain missions for Caesar for him to become satisfied that you’re worthy of this position. I will help you train, to prepare and will accompany you on these missions. I guess I’ll be your guide of sorts. So, what do you say? Yes or death?” My only two options. It’s clear to me which one I’m going to choose but death is the option I know the outcome for. To fight for Caesar, I have to prove my worth or die.  
I nod and he inclines his head.  
“Are you sure? There will be a lot expected of you and if you don’t meet those expectations then death will be worse if you don’t accept it now.”  
I give another nod.  
“Very well then. Training begins tomorrow. Tonight, you rest, this is your home now, unless you betray us.” He stands and walks to the door. “Oh, and Luna?” I glance up to him, unsure of how he knows my name. “Your father will also be watching your progress.” He opens the door and leaves and I’m left sitting in the empty penthouse. Of all the possible things that could have happened these past few days, this is probably the most bizarre. 

**

The warm bath water sinks into my skin and melts my bones, the warmth soothing my tired muscles. Never have I had a bath, never have I had soap touch my skin, never have I been truly clean. Never have I worn clothes that weren’t filthy slave rags and never have I had a bed with cushions and blankets. It just makes me wish that all the women that I grew up with, who looked after me, could have this. They sleep on straw if they’re lucky, they eat dinner if they’re lucky.  
I take a breath. Everything I’m about to do is for them. I will fight my way through everything that Caesar has to throw at me and come out on top just to show the slaves that there is light to be found in the darkness of all hells. Never have I wanted to fight for something so much. This is for Gillian, for my mother, for the ones who raised me and for all the slaves who have seen the utter horrors that man can bestow upon them.  
I sleep that night with a full stomach and in warmth and feel guilty for what I have and what other people don’t have but there’s no use in throwing it away if I have it. My dreams are filled with nightmares as they usually are. Nightmares I never feared because reality was always so much worse. Nightmares could never touch me, unlike a sword or a whip can.

**

I wake to Ben’s voice commanding me up and I quickly leap out of bed, facing him. “Alright, break time is over. You will be getting your gear and weapons today. You will begin training in an hour so hurry up.” Ben leaves the bedroom and I slump. Everything was real than, it wasn’t some nightmare. Gillian was killed and I’ve been recruited by Caesar. So it begins.  
I turn to the chest where my new belongings are placed. They’ve gone all out with attempting to make me look menacing and not like a woman. All black clothing, padded armour, full face mask and hood. Not an inch of skin or femininity will be shown in these clothing. I’m thankful, to everyone I know I’m dead and Gillian gave her life for nothing.  
I pick up the thick clothing and find the material is light and flexible. I begin to shrug into it, feeling a bit like a little girl playing dress-ups.  
Gillian will not have given her life for nothing, I’ll make certain of that.  
Ben does not give me time to get to terms with what’s going on. The minute I’m in my armour and am fully covered up with two unloaded pistols strapped to each of my thighs, I’m leaving The Tops casino, following Ben.  
I walk the main street of New Vegas, really the only street. Legion soldiers watch me and slaves duck their heads as I turn their way. I’m another fear to them; I’m no longer the slave girl who fought by their sides but another shadow that they have to look out for.  
And it makes my heart clench in sorrow.  
I don’t want them to fear me, I want them to look to me and know that I would never lay a hand on them to hurt them. Not since the arena. My chest tightens at the memory of murdering that woman, a slave like me, in the same position I was in, and I killed her.  
What am I becoming? A murderer like all the men around me? A cold-hearted menace that slaughters if told to? Gillian wouldn’t want to see me like this, doing as Caesar bid like a dog. I don’t want to see me like this.  
I contemplate running; just letting my legs take me forward and away from this damning place. But I’m reminded by the tightness around my neck, under my clothing, of the slave collar, that I am but a piece of property. Nothing more. 

**


	5. Chapter 5

Ben leads me to the Lucky 38, back into the wolves den that is Caesar and his ready soldiers. I don’t plan to fight anyone this day but Caesar is a merciless man and I fear what he may have in store for me.  
I quickly glance around, once again trying to find any clues of what might be awaiting me with my surroundings. But nothing has changed. The blood and gore has been scrubbed clean from the carpet beneath my feet and Caesar sits in his throne, speaking with a Centurion, a conversation I cannot hear but right now, my only worry is my own position.  
We wait for Caesar to gesture for us and I move forward, Ben a step ahead of me. He lowers to one knee and I swallow my resistance before following suit.  
“I have a task for you,” Caesar begins with and I fight back the dread settling over me. “I’ve had word that there is a small camp of Powder Gangers over near Sloan. Since all of those criminals are nearly wiped out, this shouldn’t be a very hard task. Kill them, destroy their supplies and find out if there are anymore Powder Gangers left. If so, hunt them and execute them, if not, return back here.” He waves a hand and we turn and leave. That was a lot less stressful than I thought and I feel the pent up tension oozing out of my body.

**

Ben leads me to a supplies store, my gaze wanders around the shelves of all sorts of supplies from food and drink, to ammunitions and weapons. Ben isn’t even questioned by the store owner as he picks up two backpacks and loads them up with stuff. I guess he has special privileges.  
I meander to an aisle and pick up a stuffed teddy in my gloved hands. The fur of it is patchy and the sewing at the back is splitting.  
“Put this on,” Ben says from behind me and I jump, hurriedly putting the bear back and turning towards him. He holds a backpack towards me and I shrug it on, the weight considerably lighter from what I’m used to carrying. I follow him from the shop, glancing at the owner who doesn’t bat an eye as we leave without paying. Ben doesn’t even offer him a ‘thank you’.  
I want to ask him where we’re going, what we’re planning on doing but I can’t, I have no way of communicating with him and it frustrates me beyond anything.  
Ben leads me to another place in Freeside and I keep my gaze to the unstable ground beneath my feet as the slaves hurry out of our path, clearly having no recognition of me. I trail meekly behind Ben, my heart thumping in my ears.  
Many of the old places have been recreated into places of furthering the militaries strength. Weapon and armour manufacturing, the growth of medicinal herbs and other such things. Ben leads me to a small garage tucked between two crumbling buildings. He pulls a key from the pocket of his black pants, slides it into a lock and pushes the roller door up.  
“Caesar keeps me around for many uses,” Ben tells me, walking inside and flicking on a generator. “My abilities in the technical department is one of them.” Lights flicker on the blotchy ceiling and I stare at them for a moment before my gaze is drawn to the contraption in the middle of the small, cement room. “Ah, but you probably don’t even know what this is, do you?”   
I scowl at him though he can’t see my face with the fabric, dark goggles and hood covering it.  
“This is called a motorbike,” he says like he’s speaking to a child. His condescending tone grates on my nerves. I already know that he doesn’t approve of what Caesar’s plans for me are but he doesn’t get to speak to me like I’m an imbecile. I’d grown accustomed to the Legionaries rarely speaking to us slaves, only to bark orders at us but now I’m faced with this. “It moves,” he continues and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to calm my anger as I taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood. “See these circular things,” he says, pointing to the wheels, amusement in his eyes.  
I turn and walk away, clenching and unclenching my gloved hands. I may be a slave, I may be a pawn in Caesar’s games but I am no child and I will not accept him speaking to me like one.   
“Luna,” Ben calls to me and I stop. “We have a job to do and tantrums aren’t going to accomplish it.” I turn to find him leaning against the opening to the garage. “You may as well get used to me being an asshole,” he says and disappears back into the garage.  
Who is he? I suddenly wonder. Who is he to Caesar, to this army?   
I enter the garage once again with tense shoulders and hands tightly clasped together. I watch him as he fills the tank of the machine with fuel, caps it then sings a leg over the seat. He looks to me and inclines his head.   
“Coming or not, slave?” he asks and I bristle at the name before swallowing my anger and standing beside what he calls a motorbike. “On you get,” he says and I mimic his movements by swinging a leg over the seat behind him, keeping as much space between us as I can. “Hold on, please,” he says in a mocking tone and I place my hands on his waist, resisting the urge to dig my hands into his sides painfully and give him a taste of what he deserves. He kicks up the stand of the bike, turns a key and the engine roars to life with a startling noise that makes me jump. It vibrates through my chest and I lift my feet from the ground as Ben moves the bike forward. With a terrifying lurch the bike takes off into the dishevelled streets, my heart lurching with it as I tighten my grip on Ben. The wind tugs at me as we pass slaves in a blur that watch our departure with wide eyes.  
We fly out through the gates of Freeside, going at a speed that twists my stomach in knots. I clench my jaw and watch the landscape pass in a haze. The broken land is a normal thing to me, it’s colourless landscape devoid of life. The breeze carries dust through the air, the only movement in our forsaken surroundings.   
I eventually stop focusing on my depressing environment and instead stop thinking, switching my thoughts off.

**

We finally stop moving to get off the motorbike and stretch our legs after what seems like hours of travelling. I know it wasn’t that long but the distinct fear of toppling off the machine had my nerves on a short sting and time moved at a completely different pace.  
“Listen here, slave,” he’s saying as I pull down my hood and tug the goggles off to reveal my blue eyes spitting fury. “The Legion hasn’t been able to purge all of the damned creatures in this land and we’re very near Deathclaw territory.” I think he expects me to know what those are and I whip the black fabric mask from my face to raise an eyebrow at me. He loads a rifle that was strapped to the side of his bike and looks to me. “Beasts that are big with claws,” he elaborates and I nod. “The gang is set up in Sloan because the Deathclaws don’t usually travel away from the Quarry that far,” he sighs at the confused look upon my face. “The Quarry is where an old mining place used to be, it was infested with Deathclaws, it got cleared but now it is again with the inactivity going on there.”   
I nod again, attempting to keep up with his information.   
“The Legion don’t usually bother with the monsters of the land so we’ve left this place alone, until now, of course.”  
I desperately want to speak, ask him why we’re doing such a dangerous thing when surely these Deathclaw beasts would eventually wipe out the gang here. But unfortunately I have to meekly follow behind him and hope that I won’t get killed in doing so.  
“Your weapons,” he says, gesturing to the pistols strapped to my thighs as he places the rifle on top of his bag in the dirt. I pull them out, smirking slightly at the satisfying weight of them in my hands. He takes them from me and loads them up with clips before handing them back to me. I marvel at the power I currently hold in my hands with these relatively small items. I tuck them back into their holsters before I can elaborate on my thoughts, knowing they’ll soon lead to a possible escape. “We’re not going to bother talking to these men,” he says, coldly and I meet his steely green eyes. “So be ready for a fight.” He begins preparing what he needs as nervousness clings to me.  
I run a hand over my head, brushing it through my short, white blonde hair, the length barely able to slide through my fingers. The Legion constantly chop off our hair, wanting to strip us of our femineity and any beauty we may have.   
I look to the sun that’s hanging low in the sky and clench my gloved hands. I don’t want to do this, what have these people ever done to me? Why must I fight for the Legion?   
“Luna,” Ben interrupts my thoughts and I focus back on him. “I’d like to get this done before nightfall,” he says and I nod stiffly.   
This is a simple job to him, something that’s taking him out of doing more important things. This doesn’t faze him but why is it fazing me? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed nor would it be the last but this time it’s different. I’m not fighting to save anyone I love, not fighting to desperately cling to my survival, I’m doing this to aid a hellish army with their sights set on more bloodshed.  
“Follow my lead,” he says and begins walking down the cracked road. I hesitate, this could be my moment to escape, with his back turned to me, the nights descending to give me cover, only the two of us and a gang that wants Legion blood to stain the ground nearby. But my hand is drawn to my throat, where the cold metal of the slave collar forever rests heavily.   
I follow Ben with uncertainty lying heavily in my heart.

**


	6. Chapter 6

I kneel with Ben behind a cluster of rocks as he observes the collection of small and rusting shacks. I narrow my eyes as I see a man in a fold out chair, a gun resting in his lap as he lightly snores.   
“Glad to know that their guard patrol is as flawed as their attack strategies,” Ben mutters under his breath. “They’d all be in the building there,” he tells me gesturing with a hand towards a well-lit shack. “Most likely drinking and in no condition to fight.”  
We look at each other and I know a question is set heavily in my features. How in the world do we do this?  
“They’re called Powder Gangers for a reason,” he murmurs, quietly. “They’d have a supply of explosives somewhere. We kill their sentries, rig up their explosives and blow them all to Hell.” My gaze travels to the dirt beneath our feet as a frown puckers my brow. Killing unsuspecting men who have done nothing to harm me in any way. I don’t want to do this, I want to walk away, go back to the simple life of being in chains. “You take this one,” Ben is saying as my chest tightens. “There are bound to be others around and most of them won’t be asleep. Pick them off quietly,” he says and slides a blade into my hand. I stare at its serrated edge and Ben leaves me kneeling there. I know I should act, give him cover but my muscles are stiff and nothing is cooperating with me.   
My heart aches and I press the flat of the blade to my forehead, clenching the handle in my cold, gloved hands and squeezing my eyes shut. I take a few deep breaths, composing my thoughts, gathering myself together before I crumble.   
This is just a job, a simple task to gain the trust of Caesar so I can give those who matter to me a better life. This is my chance to work forward, to try and repair the broken people around me that have lost hope.  
I open my eyes, adjust my hold on the blade and shift out of the shadows of the rock, staying low as I move silently towards the sleeping guard. My breathing is shallow as I listen to the guard's snoring, listening for any changes that he may show to indicate that he’s waking up. I stand behind him, glancing around and when I see no one, my stomach lurches. There’s nothing to stop me from doing this, nothing to stop me from killing a sleeping man.  
I grip the knife tightly and sink my teeth into my lower lip as I quickly grasp the man’s head, my hand firmly over his mouth as he’s startled awake. Before he can even get a hold of what’s happening I plunge the knife into his throat, staring ahead of me into the darkened wasteland. I keep a strong hold over his mouth as I tear the blade from his throat, the serrated edge shredding through sinews and flesh. He gurgles into my hand, his struggles muffled as blood clogs in his mouth and he chokes on it. His skirmishes last a few more moments before he slumps in his seat. I straighten his gun and leave him there, seemingly continuing to sleep. My fingers are tingling as I find another target, my breath hitching in my throat as I step away from the dead man, blood dripping from my blade.  
I move from shadow to shadow, my eyes darting around me as I scout the camp. I find Ben as he drags a body under cover and turns to me. He gives me a small salute but my gaze travels behind him and my mouth goes dry. I hesitate as my heart picks up a beat and my eyes widen. Ben frowns at my stunned gaze but I’m too numb to do anything as suddenly a loud shot echoes through the air and Ben jolts. I pull out my own gun and with horror settling inside of me I shoot at the shadow three times until they fall to the ground.  
Shouts reach me and I know we’ve alerted the others. Running footsteps come towards us and I turn, waiting for them to approach, waiting for them to see the men we’ve killed and end our lives.  
Someone grabs me and I turn to find Ben, an arm held limply at his side and fury in his eyes as he drags me from the scene. “Run, you idiot,” he hisses through clenched teeth. For some reason I slide an arm around his waist as he stumbles slightly and drag him with me. We move quickly as shouts echo behind us in the dark, the rattle of weapons being loaded following close behind. “To the bike,” he says, pushing me onward as shots ring out behind us. We duck our heads and round the cluster of rocks. I look to the blood dripping from his shoulder and know that I need to stop the flow of blood before he loses too much and falls unconscious.   
We reach the motorbike and he swiftly throws himself on it and I climb behind him. He starts the engine, the deep roar of it rumbling through me but Ben hisses out a breath as he lifts his injured arm to grab the handle bars.  
More shots boom through the night air and I pull out my own gun to return fire blindly. The bark of the gun juddering up my arm.  
The bike takes off and I quickly slide the weapon back into its holster to grab a hold of Ben with two hands. I take a few deep breaths as the wind nips at my exposed face. I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting this nightmare to be over already. Ben is hurt because of me, because I hesitated. I could kill a sleeping man, completely unaware that he was in any sort of danger and unable to fight back but I couldn’t kill a man that was pointing a gun right at us. Now isn’t the time to be growing a conscious when I’m fighting a battle, now isn’t the time to be growing remorseful as I fight for my own freedom.   
My freedom.

**

Ben finally stops the bike, his breathing heavy as he struggles to wrap his arm around his middle and into a more comfortable position. I jump off the bike, pull open my bag and tear the small medical kit from within its depths. I struggle to see in the dark, placing the kit in a pocket of light where the moon shines upon the cracked earth.  
Ben sits on the ground by his bike and I glance over to him. He looks at me and frowns at my directions. I let out a sigh and use the warm blade that was tucked into my boot to carve a simple direction into the dirt. 'Shirt off'. I then go back to the medical kit after sliding the blade back into my boot and I pull out what I need from the kit as I hear Ben struggling behind me. I turn around and swallow the lump that rises in my throat at seeing him half naked. His hair falls damply over his forehead as he inspects the wound on his shoulder that is bubbling out blood that trails over his muscled and scarred chest and stomach.  
I tear my eyes away, grab my supplies and sit before him. One thing that I don’t have is alcohol that would work as an antiseptic because the Legion don’t allow such substances in their ranks. I sigh and pull out a clean cloth from my bag to use and Ben watches me carefully.  
“In my bag,” he speaks up and I meet his gaze. “There’s a flask of whiskey.” My eyes widen at him and he gives me a lopsided grin. I don’t even bother asking myself why a soldier of the Legion would have such a thing but I’m grateful because it’ll work perfectly.   
I open his bag, rummage through it for a moment before finding the flask. I open the cap and take a whiff of it. I wrinkle my nose with coming to the conclusion that it is in fact whiskey.   
I sit in front of him once again, my left leg curled close to my body and my right leg outstretched with my knee bent so I can rest my elbow on it. I douse the bandage I’ll be using to cover his wound in with alcohol before meeting his eyes to find him watching me. “I’d prefer you to get on with it already,” he tells me and I’m glad to know that he understands this is going to hurt.   
I run my eyes over his wound and find that the bullet went straight through the muscle of his upper shoulder near his neck and out the other side. He’s lucky and I’m lucky too, it gives me a less complicated task. I’ll need to stitch the wound but I have nothing to do that with here.  
I raise the flask and pour the alcohol over the wound, his body tenses and his hand finds its way to my calf and he squeezes tightly, enough to most likely leave a bruise. He clenches his jaw and bares his teeth and I put the bandage over his wound. I quickly tie it off with cloth, creating a knot under his arm so the bandage doesn’t chafe his skin. I then go on to wipe up the blood and alcohol from his chest and stomach.  
“I would thank you,” he says, pulling his hand away from my leg as I place his right arm in a sling, “if this wasn’t your fault.”   
I nod my head in reply, not liking our close proximity as anger shines in his green eyes.  
“You didn’t take the shot though I know you saw him,” he continues. “Were you hoping that I’d die so you could escape?”  
I shake my head, my own anger rising as I give a hard tug on the last knot of his sling. He winces and it gives me a small measure of satisfaction.  
“You best remember who you belong to, slave,” he says, coldly and raises his uninjured arm to brush it against my collar. I grab his hand tightly and our gazes clash. A small smirk plays on his lips. “Though you’re a mute you clearly have a lot to say.” I drop his hand and stand, brushing myself off before packing away our supplies. I pick up the flask of alcohol that’s half empty and throw it onto his lap with a knowing look before finding a relatively closed off space from his eyes to finally relieve myself of my damned bladder. 

**


	7. Chapter 7

“We haven’t finished the job,” Ben tells me the next morning as we pack up our stuff and organize our ammunition. “Caesar wants us to wipe out the rest of the Powder Gangers, not kill a couple then retreat.” I glare at him and gesture to his arm that is tied in the sling. He looks down at it and shrugs. “I’ve had worse,” he says and I shake my head, wanting to chastise him and tell him that he’s a fool, stitches need to be put into the wound for it to heal properly but we don’t have the equipment necessary with us for me to do that. “Do you know how much I love watching you trying to tell me what to do?” he chuckles and my scowl alone should skin him alive but it just makes him grin even wider. “We’re going to track down that gang and finish our job whether you approve or not.”  
I give a firm shake of my head, knowing he’d be a dead weight if we did that.  
“You don’t make the rules around here, slave,” he says, his voice growing cold and my back stiffens. My stubbornness takes over and I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “You know, I could tell Caesar that you need to be taught a lesson, maybe kill one of your slave friends before your eyes. Say, how about the woman who raised you? Kill her just like that other girl, what was her name? Gillian?” My vision suddenly blackens around the edges and my breathing stops as I’m brought face to face with that heartache. Anger curls in my stomach and without thinking I leap at him, hatred in my eyes that he would dare say her name and threaten the only other person that I love in this world.  
Ben dodges my efforts to curl my hands around his throat and I stumble in the dirt, whirl on him and throw a punch, fury clouding my vision. He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back, spinning my around so my back is pressed to his chest and I hear him grunt as he uses his injured arm to hold my other arm behind me as well.  
I thrash against him, stomping my heel down on his foot and I hear his gratifying hiss as he shoves me away from him. I want to scream at him, call him a many number of questionable names but most of all I want to break this collar from my neck and snap it around his, put him in the shoes of the people he spits on, kill him like Gillian had died.  
The satisfaction that vision brings me calms my breathing and heart. I face him and watch as a red stain bloom on the bandages over his shoulder. His arm is out of its sling and he stares at me with a stony expression.  
“Touchy subject?” he questions and I grind my teeth. “You have really got to get a handle on your anger,” he says and brings his injured arm around his stomach with a subtle wince. My gaze drops to the ground and I breathe evenly. He’s right, these outbursts will get me killed one day. “I’m sure your father would be very proud,” he says and I storm over to him. I grab his sling and retie it, a question stumbling repeatedly in my mind. How does he know so much about me? It’s common knowledge who my father is but my foster mother, Gillian, how does he know about all of that? I fix his arm, open my bag and pull out a notebook and pencil. I write a few things that I need to say to him. 'Your wound needs stitches but I don’t have the supplies with me. If we don’t close it then it will get infected. It needs proper antiseptic and bandages as well.'  
I tear off the paper and hand it to him, nervousness churning in my stomach that this is the first time that I’ve actually communicated with him.  
“So I guess we’re just brushing aside your little tantrum?” he asks with a raised brow and I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine,” he says. “We get what we need from a trader or something then we hunt down those criminals.”  
I nod.  
“I can’t believe I’m compromising with a slave,” he mutters to himself and I roll my eyes. Men can be so arrogant. 

**

Ben barters with the trader as I study our surroundings, my mind wandering blankly on things like how hot I am in these layers of black clothing. I let out a sigh and shrug out of my jacket, pull off my vest and throw my gloves into my bag. I run a hand over my damp, shaved head then wipe my clammy hands on my black cargo pants. I stand in the sun in my black tank-top, eager to find some shade or at least a small amount of breeze to come my way. Ben has also stripped down his layers to a black t-shirt.  
He glances at me, freezes to inspect my new look before holding up a few supplies that he’s planning on buying. I nod my head and he turns back to the trader. My eyes travel the barren landscape, the waves of heat blurring the distance. I wonder how far I would make it out there if I just ran before either my collar started beeping or before I got eaten or I died out of heat exhaustion. I wonder how far Ben would let me get before he came after me.  
I want to escape; I want to make a life for myself out there but there are more things than just my collar keeping me here. There are slaves that I just can’t leave behind, people that can’t be left to the fate that’s in store for them. So though I fight for my freedom, I am still bound to the Legion in one way or another.  
Ben reaches me with his new supplies and I gather my things to walk back to where we left the bike beneath the shade of a half collapsed billboard displaying with its faded colours and torn edges a cool looking drink with droplets of condensation. It makes my mouth water, how I’d love to have a cold drink in this damned heat.  
“I gather I’m going to enjoy this,” Ben drawls sarcastically as he pulls off his shirt awkwardly, trying to do the least amount of damage possible to his arm. I inspect the stuff he bought with a keen eye and set up what I need as he settles in front of me by his bike.  
I take off his bandaging and begin my work. I use the antiseptic he got me and this time his hand grips firmly onto my thigh as I kneel before him and douse his wound in the stuff. I pull out the needle and thread and slide it through his flesh, with each tug of the stitch his grip on my leg tightens then loosens.  
“I would make conversation with you to keep my mind off of a needle and thread currently being sewn through my flesh but it’s not exactly easy holding a conversation with you.” I smirk a little, keeping my eyes on the work at hand as my fingers grow slick with his blood. “I gather you’re curious about me,” he says and I nod. “Well, you should probably know that I’m quite close with your father.”  
I raise an eyebrow and he looks at me, our faces too close for comfort as he gauges my reaction.  
“He’s training me. Your father won’t be around forever and I was… picked to learn the ropes of Legate. Though I’m not as intimidating as you father in appearance and I’m sure his amount of armour can’t be easy to fight with, I’m also sure that Caesar and Lanius picked me for a reason.” Our gazes meet and I chew on the inside of my cheek as he tells me this. “Just like they picked you for a reason. You’re a slave and I was, well… certainly not this,” he gives a hollow laugh as a brief flash of pain crosses his face though it’s not from my stitches. My curiosity has been piqued but also my empathy. He probably didn’t choose this life, didn’t see it in his future and maybe he had a family, people he loved that he had to leave behind and forget because of the Legion. Maybe he lost people that drove him to be in this place.  
I get to work on the other side of his wound, where the bullet entered and try not to think about his unknown past too much. This man is my enemy and he always will be, the Legion will forever be my enemy, and my only hope for survival in this world.

**

I leave Ben with trying to find the gang because they’ve left Sloan, clearly knowing that people are after them. They probably don’t know that we’re part of the Legion but they know when to leave, a small part of me hopes that we don’t find them.  
I sit on the ground, throwing rocks along the dirt as Ben scouts the area, following where their tracks go. “They went South-West,” Ben calls to me and I give him a thumbs up from my position across the road where I sit. “Thank you for your contribution,” he says, walking towards me. I give him another thumbs up and he shakes his head. “This whole mission is for you, to prove that we can trust you, to show you the inner workings of what goes on in the Legion.”  
I shrug dismissively.  
“We’re going to have to find a way to get your voice back,” he says and I frown at him. “Sure, Caesar thinks it’s an advantage because the slaves and the soldiers aren’t meant to know you’re a female but it’d be great if I could actually have a conversation with you. So far it’s about as exciting as talking to a dead person, unless you have one of your temper tantrums.” I offer him a dead pan look and he flashes me his teeth. “Anyway, to the gang we go, I’d really like for you not to fuck up this time.” I huff out a breath and jump onto the motorbike with him, annoyed that he always manages to make me seem like I’m just screwing this whole thing up for him and he could easily do it by himself. Well, if he’s training to become the Legion’s Legate, second to Caesar, then I don’t see why he couldn’t do this by himself.

**


	8. Chapter 8

Ben and I sit by a fire that night as he cooks from a can filled with colourless slop that I have seen too much of in my life. Us slaves have to make loads of this stuff for the patrols that leave on scouting expeditions and all the sorts, it’s why I spent a lot of time in my life just endlessly peeling and cutting potatoes.  
I turn my gaze away from the fire and instead look out towards the dark and seemingly peaceful land. In this light one might mistake the silhouettes of mountains and soft moonlight to be serene, one might be fooled into believing that it’s not ravaged by war, in this life and in another, a time long before mine. But I know too well of the struggles of this world, I was born in the centre of an army bent on conquering everything they possibly can.  
And I now fight with that army.  
My eyes shift back to Ben, his movements careful with his injured arm. I could fight him now, with him injured and in the middle of the wastes, travelling further and further from the Legion, I’d be long gone before they found out of my escape.  
I drop my head with a sigh, my collar digging its metallic edges into my neck uncomfortably. It’s a reminder that I’ll never forgot, I can’t take this thing off without blowing myself up and there’s no chance of getting someone to take it off until I’ve been fully integrated into the ranks of the Legion, even then it’s not a certainty that I’ll escape.  
I brush my fingers against the cold metal, a frown between my brows.  
“Contemplating your escape?” Ben inquires and my gaze snaps to him to find his eyes watching me closely. “It’d be the perfect time for it, you have the advantage and if you kill me then I won’t have the chance to rig your collar to blow. You may get far enough to find someone who can take that off before the Legion figure out what you’ve done. Sure, they’ll hunt you for a while but you’d just be another runaway slave and they’ll eventually lose interest.” He stirs the food for a bit and I narrow my eyes. “Though, I don’t think your father will give up his search for you so easily. He’ll send everything he has at you and with no allies in the wastes and nowhere to go there’s not a good chance in your survival.” His eyes meet mine again as I watch him quietly. “Escaping is the easy part,” he says in a low tone. “It’s surviving that’ll test you and make you do some questionable things.”  
He says this like he has experience, like he knows exactly what I’ll go through if I do follow up on my fanciful ideas. I shake my head at him and exhale loudly through my nose, gazing back out to the landscape that surrounds us. Those imaginings will only get me so far, I know I won’t escape, fear and a sense of debt keeps me tied to the Legion and the slaves.  
Ben is right, the things that I’ll be driven to do out there will shatter me, I’ve seen what people do for survival, I’ve seen the slaves kill each other in the arenas, I’ve witnessed them take their abuse in rape with a stony expression to avoid angering their abusers.  
“I can see your thoughts whirling on your face,” Ben says, “but I have no idea what those thoughts are and I’m curious. You’re an interesting person, born a slave, daughter to the second to Caesar, began killing as a child and for some reason the men are afraid of you.” I turn my cold look to him as he speaks. “They rarely dare touch you, maybe they’re scared of Lanius. You also hate being told what to do, the men when you first arrived here told you to get undressed and you shot him with his own gun.” I advert my gaze to my hands twisting in my lap. “Yet you clearly would rather not kill.”  
I shrug.  
“I’m trying to figure you out, it’d be useful to know the person I’m dealing with if I’m to teach you the ropes of the Legion and be able to trust you.”  
I don’t want him to figure me out, he doesn’t have the right to know who I am. Not many people have that right.  
“There’s a place,” he continues, “that I know of that does a lot of medical procedures. Extreme ones.” I meet his gaze. “They may be able to get you voice back.”  
I frown at him, unbelieving. The scars on my vocal cords are sever, Caesar’s doctors were fascinated with me because I was such a rare case of survival.  
“If you don’t believe me then I can show you.”  
I stand and walk away from him, he watches my movements but I show him my back and don’t give him any indication of what I’m thinking. It’d be a relief to have my voice back, a relief to be able to tell Caesar and Ben where they can shove their orders. But being a mute, unable to express defiance in the form of a voice has been a weight off my shoulders. There’s not much responsibility in being forced to obey.  
“We’d have to finish this mission first, of course, then return to the Legion. Caesar may not want you to have your voice back and I don’t particularly wish to be punished for it.” I glance at him. I could go by myself, claim to have run away, get my voice back. I don’t care about being punished.  
I grab my pack and pull out the notebook and pen that have been shoved to the bottom and scribble my thoughts. 'I could go alone, claim to have escaped from you, all you need to do is tell me where it is and not detonate my collar.'  
He reads my writing before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You think that I’d trust you?” he asks and I sigh before writing again.  
'Then come with me but spin the same tale, no one has to know that you were with me.'  
He reads then contemplates. “They’d recognize me; I’ve been there a few times for… various things.”  
I raise an eyebrow at that, curious to know what ‘things’ he’s talking about. He notices my curiosity but shakes his head.  
“I think I’ve told you enough about myself. My past belongs to me and me only.”  
Now I’m really keen on finding out what he has hidden.  
“Get some rest, slave,” he says and I roll my eyes. One day he’s going to have to stop calling me that.  
I write on another piece of paper before handing it to him and laying down on my bedroll and closing my eyes. 'I want my voice back; I know you don’t care much for my sentimental attachments but I need to tell people how much I love them. Gillian never truly got to hear it before she was taken so unjustly from me. Her death weighs on my shoulders heavily and I need to speak. I also want to finally tell you how much I want to kick you in the face.'  
I hear his slight chuckle in response to my note and I fall asleep with a smirk playing on my lips.

**


	9. Chapter 9

I hear screaming, my own voice screaming, the shouts of despair echo around me, filling my head as I see Gillian before me, her kind eyes reassuring me. My screams drown out the words she speaks but I desperately want to hear them. I try to turn my voice off like a switch but the cries continue. The collar around her neck tears her apart like she’s made of something as fickle as paper but I’m trapped to do anything.  
I wake with a gasp, sitting up and looking around to get a bearing of my surroundings. Light gently crawls above ground in the early hours of the morning. I lean back on my elbows, the cold sweat drying on my forehead as I watch the sun rise. My heartbeat slows and my breathing shallows as I focus only on that wash of light. One day I’ll run towards that light, leaving behind slavery and torture, leaving behind the nightmares of my world. But until then I have to focus on what’s real, like this fight and the turmoil within me.  
I roll over on my mat, tucking my hands beneath my chin and look to Ben. His small mutters are the only noises that fill the air, his hand clenching and unclenching where is rests on his stomach. I guess that I’m not the only one who has the unpleasant fortune to deal with nightmares.  
I close my eyes and try to get more sleep, knowing that the following days are not going to be easy for me.

**

“Get up,” I hear someone growl and a boot shoves me from my mat and onto the dirt. I quickly sit up and glare at Ben. He throws my bag at me then turns away to pack up our camp. I frown at his back as he roughly pulls on his black vest, not even caring about his wound. The urge to throw something at him and make him aware that I’m not redoing his stitches is great but I result in tightly rolling up my sleeping mat.  
I don’t know what crawled up his arse during the night but I’m not looking forward to having to deal with it for the rest of the day.  
“We’re going to find the rest of the gang today so don’t fuck it up,” he says gruffly and my palms become clammy. I had been avoiding the inevitability of hunting down living people and executing them, hoping that they’d simply become dust in this wasteland but of course Ben wouldn’t allow it to be that simple.  
He loads the bike as I pull on my guise and goggles before quickly slipping onto the back of bike. I hesitantly put my arms around his waist and stare off into the distance. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to continue to kill people who have done no wrong to me.  
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I just need to stay alive until I can find my freedom.

**

We don’t ride for a long time before Ben is stopping and getting off the bike. I look around at my new surroundings. “We’re near the Mojave Outpost,” Ben informs me, strapping his weapon belt around his hips. “Hopefully they haven’t run off California way, I don’t particularly want to travel out that far.”  
The NCR haven’t completely been destroyed by the Legion, a lot of their soldiers retreated back into the bosom of their leaders in California but I know it’s only a matter of time before Caesar has recovered his losses tenfold to lay waste to anything outside of his border.  
I look at Ben, waiting for instructions. “Make sure your gun is loaded and ready to shoot, we don’t know what we’ll be walking into and waiting for the cover of darkness when we could just as easily be spotted and ambushed isn’t on my list of favourite things to do.” I nod my head, pull the pistol from its holster and slide the clip out though I know it’s fully loaded, I’m just trying to keep busy while my mind tries to leap into a pit of fear and regret.   
I slide the clip back into place and Ben slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, slides a few grenades onto his belt then turns to me.  
“I need you with me on this,” he says. “I can’t do this alone and I need you watching my back, got it?”   
I offer him a hasty nod but clench my jaw, my gut churning in a sickening way.  
He places a hand on my shoulder in a comforting manner and I frown at him though he can’t see through my mask. “If you need to get out, you let me know and we’ll go together.”  
His words confuse me because this is not the hardened soldier that is training to be second to Caesar that I have come to know but a man that understands the turmoil spinning through my mind.   
I simply nod again in response and he withdraws his hand. “Then we do this without hesitation,” he says and I follow him up the steep hill littered with old, rusting cars and trucks that give us cover. I focus on my footing on the uneven and cracked road, my heart thudding in my ears, my breath heavy and the air stiflingly hot as the sun beats down upon my black, layered clothing.  
I follow closely behind Ben and pull my pistol out of its holster and grip it tightly, my finger off the trigger. We stop by a truck and press our backs to it as we hear voices, bursts of laughter and taunts. Ben looks at me. “Guns blazing,” he says, quietly and pulls his rifle into his hands. I switch the safety off of my gun and stick close to him as he exits the cover.   
Shabby fencing, two small, rundown buildings, a torn NCR flag and a group of men is what greets me. I see a woman among the men as they laugh and toss her between them. She cries out as she stubbles and falls. Her clothes are shredded and bloodstained. A man grabs her roughly and pulls her onto his lap and she tries to twist from his grasp but is too weak to get anywhere.  
A red haze of anger clouds my vision as I witness these men provoking and torturing this woman. I push past Ben and raise my gun in a steady hand as fury pumps through my veins. Shots burst from the gun, the woman screams as blood splashes across her, the men stare, shocked. I shoot at another but the bullet passes him. I continue to shoot and soon Ben is joining me, then men are spilling from the buildings and I’m aiming at them and my gun is clicking hollowly but I pull the knife from my belt and charge at them with bloodlust in my eyes.  
Shouts reach my ears but I tear through the men, slashing throats, opening stomachs and getting drenched in the sticky blood. Everything around me becomes a distant buzz until there is only my knife and my rage. The injustice of it all. The Legion torture and rape women. The Legion take slaves. The Legion laugh at cruelty. Out here everyone should be free. Where there is no Legion there should be freedom.  
“Luna,” someone calls but all I see is my knife as it continuously plunges into the man’s chest, my hands and arms aching, my skull throbbing. “Luna!” An arm wraps around my waist and throws me away from the man that I was mutilating.   
I shove the person away before tearing my mask and goggles away that seem to be suffocating me. I suck in breaths, my body shaking, the concrete beneath me painful on what I assume to be wounds that cover me and I don’t even recall getting them.  
I look up at Ben through a haze. “They’re dead,” he says, kneeling before me, a carefulness in his movements. “They’re all dead.”  
I press my gloved hands to my face, smearing blood across myself as I feel the overwhelming need to lay down and never get back up. A sobbing interrupts my silence and I look over my shoulder to see the woman… no, the girl, pressed to the skeleton of a car, looking at us with terror in her eyes.  
“We should go,” Ben says. “We can’t take her with us, she’ll be taken as a slave by the Legion.” I glance up at him and he offers me his hand. I study it for a moment before slipping my much smaller one into his palm and allowing him to pull me to my unsteady feet. I watch him as he walks over to the girl. She sinks lower to the ground and Ben kneels before her. I can’t hear what he’s saying but she studies him with wide eyes and latches onto his words.   
Ben pulls the rifle from his back and hands it to her. My eyes widen as she hesitantly takes it. He then pulls some items from his belt including his flask of clean water then offers her a soft smile. He stands and walks back over to me. “Back to Vegas,” he murmurs and I follow behind him, my shoulders hunched and head hanging low, gripping my mask and goggles in stiff hands.   
I glance back to see the girl picking up a few items from the dead men around her before continuing in the opposite way to us, towards California. 

**


End file.
